Cheiloproclitic
by spiderwebbed
Summary: Natalya is normally apathetic when it comes to Kiku... but for some reason, she's simply cheiloproclitic... [Cheiloproclitic is a word meaning 'being attracted to one's lips'.]


It was difficult- impossible even- not to stare at his mouth.

Far, across the room, he sat between Yao and Yong Soo with a pensive expression on his face and the incessant tapping of a pen to his mouth. Of all the time she spent silently glaring at him from across the table, she never paid attention to the two pale lips, pressed together in a downward sloping line before. And now, this time, she simply could not move her eyes away for more than glance from them. It wasn't that she was imagining anything vile, such as his lips touching her own- rather, she simply could not stop wondering about them.

Were they full, soft lips? He was, after all, Kiku, and at times he could be soft spoken.

She looked across the room again.

Were they thin, serious lips? At times, he could be a serious man, so it was possible.

Did one's lips determine what sort of person one was? She touched her own mouth for a moment. They felt sort of… just, normal. Kind of soft, slightly firm bits of insignificant skin. They were- She felt a sudden a wave of irritation at the juvenile act of touching her own mouth. Incensed, she dropped her hand suddenly. She decided to be done with the subject. Her eyes looked blindly at the sheet of paper on the table- the agenda of this world meeting.

Natalya's eyes drifted upward over the page and back to the other side of the table.

Or were they firm lips, hiding even straight teeth and an even straight smile?

She had to squint at this distance. She could not see whether they were thin or full or soft or firm and confirm her musing. She could not tell what sort of mouth he had at _all_, and it made her scowl, this offensive lack of information.

She _had_ to know.

With her pen, she wrote a note on the corner of the page. Her hand touched the hem of her full skirted dress under the table. Slowly, she ran her hand alongside her leg until she felt a small, firm strap across her thigh. She unstrapped it quietly, then lifted the black case into her lap. Carefully, she opened it. Within was small case of throwing knives, oddly shaped for balance. In the corner of the case was a miniaturized cross bow and a small case of pin needle small bolts.

She ripped the corner of her page and stabbed it on the edge of the small bolt, then took aim. She tracked the pen with her eyes. He was taking notes with it now, and it was bobbing in an unsteady pattern as it crossed the page from right to left. She grimaced. There was no way she could know what he was writing as to predict where the pen was going next. She took careful aim and shot the crossbow.

Across the table, Kiku wrote steadily. Time seemed to slow as she watched the small projectile flash across the room at a speed most would miss. If she did not hit his pen, it would stab him in the chest. It would hurt, yes, but it was small- she would be surprised if it went in deeper than an inch. He could bear an inch. His pen flicked six degrees backward from the angle she aimed the projectile towards. Well. It was going to hit his chest then. She frowned slightly. The note might've been harder to read with blood on it—

She blinked. And yet, there the projectile was, somehow, buried his pen like it had been aimed perfectly in the first place. She didn't even catch the movement, but suddenly the pen was right where it should be in a movement that would've taken impossible speed. But— How— She simply did not understand.

She was unnerved for a moment at the surge of curiosity and crushed the ticklish feeling. Abruptly, she stood. There was a brief pause in the chaos that was the front of the room as the arguing Western nations paused to look at her. Ivan paused to give her a concerned look, but she ignored even that, and left, not bothering to excuse herself.

Toris's hand reached out, but she slapped it away like a bothersome fly. She had better things to do then deal with the concerns of a moron. He took a step in her direction, but Eduard grabbed his shoulder, shaking his head once. The Lithuanian dropped his hand, his eyes trailing her as she left. She walked down the hall and around the corner, towards the ladies' room. She continued walking with anticipation, then felt satisfaction at the sound of footsteps falling in behind her.

She passed another corner, then paused. The footstep sounded closer, then stopped an appropriate distance behind her. Natalya turned around. There he was, waiting patiently with an ever calm expression on his face. She looked away from him. Even his face was an irritant. The closer she was, the more she felt a reluctance to be around him.

Still waiting, he was silent, the unsaid question of what he was actually doing there in the air unsaid.

She sat down in the windowsill, then brushed her hair behind her shoulder. After a moment, she gathered some of the long, pale strands and began to plait it. She ignored him for a few moments more, before finally acknowledging him. Her voice is vaguely interested at best, and aloof.

"How did you do that… trick with the pen?" Her eyes flickered toward him, then away. Kiku looked, amused.

"Go Ju Ryu." He clasped one hand to the other and took a step forward. "Speed is imperative to master this form of karate." He sat down on other end of the windowsill . "And I would rather myself not get pierced in the chest. Being unable to die does not mean I invite unnecessary pain as a bed companion."

Her hands stopped and her eyes once again slide towards his mouth as he spoke. Here, at this distance, she could properly see. The top lip was smaller than the bottom one, and she could see that the corner of his mouth was slightly downward sloped. Slightly pink in color, and she could confirm that yes, at the very least, they looked soft.

Looked. But how did they feel?

The question both shocked and disturbed her. What sort of inappropriate thought was that?

Shaken by her own thoughts, Natalya pushed her hair behind her shoulder and looked away.

"I have no need to stay. Asking you to come was a fault on my part." She stood to leave. "I am going back."

His gaze followed her, the glance curious behind flat black eyes. She could feel it burning in her back. It unnerved her slightly, as always, that she could rarely get a read on what he was thinking, what he was feeling, what was going on behind those dark, dark eyes. He spoke, his tone was light and pensive, as though inquiring about the day.

"How did you know I would come, Natalya-san?"

"Because you are foolish, and your particular brand of fool always comes when I call." She turned to return to the room, only to find herself jerked back. Two pale nimble fingers pinched her sleeve and somehow pinned her in place. A chill whispered down her spine. She did not like this unnatural speed. It irritated her that she should admire something that was so… She didn't dare ascribe an adjective. It would be dangerous to admire something associated with the likes of him.

"Natalya-san…" An unsaid question passed between them in the air.

"I am not attracted to you." Her voice was cold as she brushed past him icily. "I was merely curious about your lips."


End file.
